The Games
by paramoria
Summary: My name is Beca Mitchell. I am 17 years old. My home is District 6. I am a tribute in the 68th Annual Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

_It's the morning of the reaping. Nobody speaks; the district is silent. There isn't work today, just another day without pay for some, a death sentence for others. _

_The entire district crams into the town square. We all wait in anticipation of who will be representing us this year. The children stand tall, trying to mask their fright. I am among them. I look around in search of familiar faces. I see some boys my age from work. There are some adults in the back I recognize. They look at me and try to smile. I don't care. I don't need their pity. It's not like they care about me._

_The new representative for District 6 walks across the stage, her heels smacking the cement with each step. Her hair is blue and her skin is a lighter shade of it. I scoff at her. She smiles at us and introduces the video we all know too well. I stare at her as it plays. She's nervous, it's obvious, as she fiddles with the end of her sleeve. She looks to the mayor for a nod for reassurance before she starts to reaping, what we are all dreading. _

_"Ladies first, hmm?" she says, sticking her hand in the giant bowl. The crowd is silent as the names of everyone with more than five slips of paper in there rush through their minds. I'm among those names this year. This is my fifth reaping._

_She pulls out a slip and clears her throat. "Beca Mitchell."_

_Everyone looks at me. I'm not sad. Surprised, yes, but not sad. I have nothing here anyways. Better me than someone with a future. _

_As I start towards the stage, I feel all eyes on me. The eyes of District 6, of the new escort, my escort, and the eyes of the Capitol. Right now, people are betting on my chances for survival. It's sick, but I swallow hard, trying to think of something else. "Any volunteers?" rings in my ears. It's something they have to ask here in 6. People volunteer sometimes, it's rare, but it happens. But who would volunteer for me? Nobody. I don't blame them._

_I don't realize I'm on stage until the blue woman grabs my hand and smiles at me. _

_"And now for the boys." Boys. That's all the chosen male will ever be, a boy. He won't grow up to be a man. He probably won't live to his next birthday. She pulls out the slip and reads, "Jesse Swanson." I search the crowd to meet his teary eyes. I've talked to him maybe once or twice. He works at the same factory as me, but a different department. _

_He walks on stage and we shake hands, tradition, then walk into the building behind us to say our final goodbyes to our friends and family. Important people from the District come and say their goodbyes. I haven't met half of these people, but whatever helps them sleep at night. The only person I care about comes to say goodbye. She's old and feeble. We work together, side by side, and she hands me a photograph without speaking. It's of my parents on their wedding day. It's a simple exchange of vows and a signing of paper, but my mother is in a dress, looking as beautiful as I remember, and my father is holding her hand in his best suit. I look up to meet the old eyes the woman, Margret, as she sets a hand on my shoulder and smiles. I nod at her. We don't speak, but we understand. _

_The guards come a few minutes later to escort me to the train, which I may or may not have a hand in building. I look back at my district, my home, and I feel this is the last time I will ever see it._

* * *

I wake up screaming in bed drenched in sweat. It's routine now. I take a minute to catch my breath and look around. This happens every single fucking time I wake up, since I've left 6, and I forget where I am sometimes. It's scary, but I know how to remind myself of where I am. "My name is Beca Mitchell. I am 17 years old. My home is District 6. I am a tribute in the 68th Annual Hunger Games."

My eyes begin to focus on something in the room that doesn't belong. It's Gail, my escort, the woman from the reaping. As she comes closer, I can see a tinge of sadness in her eyes. This is the first time she's seen me wake up. A smile is on her lips as she claps her hands excitedly, but her eyes never change. "Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!" She leaves as quickly as she came, leaving me to shower. My skin has healed completely from the scrubbing when I arrived, but I'm still not used to it. The scars on my arms from the burns at work are gone. They've been there for years. The Capitol has changed me so much over the course of the few days I've been here.

I dress myself in pajamas and walk out to the dining area. Luke and Jesse are already seated and eating. My mentor's muscles bulge under his tight shirt with the way he sits leaning over his plate. Most girls at home would think he is attractive, but I know better. I know how he is, who he is, but not what he did in his own Games. I've asked Patricia about it before, but she never answers.

As I take a seat, Luke asks, "Are you ready for today?" I nod. "We haven't really practiced much. Are you sure?" I nod again. "So you know exactly what to say about Jesse if they ask, right? And you know to humor Ceasar and the crowd?" I slam my fist down on the table and glare at Luke.

"I fucking got it."

"Shit like that will get you killed," Luke scolds, pointing his knife at me while he speaks. I roll my eyes. "And _that_," he continues, "will piss everyone off. You will never get a sponsor if you act like this." Jesse keeps his head down, not making eye contact with either of us. That's what he does. Luke wants us to have this brother/sister dynamic in the arena, but I don't see it happening. He won't stick up for me here, so he doesn't deserve my protection out there. I've promised to at least try, though, just for the Games.

Luke hands his plate to an avox and leans back in his chair, glaring at me as I eat. Jesse readjusts in his seat. The blonde looks at his watch and sighs. "Hurry up. Fat Amy and Ethan are waiting." Ethan. It's such an un-Capitol-like name for such an eccentric guy. His eye lashes are covered in gold and his skin color changes every time I see him. Thankfully, he's Jesse's stylist. "I want to go over proper etiquette again before we leave." And with that, Luke leaves the room. Jesse continues to eat. He looks up at me warily then back down at his plate. I scoff and get up. I'm not hungry anyways.

* * *

"Why do you call yourself Fat Amy?" I hear her laugh behind me as she tightens my dress.

"Why do you call me Patricia?"

I smirk. The only time I really laugh is with Patricia. "I don't see why you should call yourself fat when you're not."

"Thank you. I was," she sighs,"given the name Amy when I became a stylist; it was more modern than Patricia or something like that. Anyways, there were some..._rude_ girls who were calling me names behind my back and such. I just gave myself the name Fat Amy so they'd shut the fuck up." I laugh with her. She's the only Capitol citizen I've heard curse besides Luke, but he technically belongs in 6, so I guess it makes sense. "But why do you call me Patricia when you could just call me Amy?"

"I don't want the Capitol to change people, you know. I've lost the scars I earned working and, no matter how small it is, I feel different from it."

"You've healed up real nice," she says, running her hand on the outside of my forearm. Her accent is thick and easily recognizable as Capitol.

"Yeah," I say nervously, not wanting to offend the only decent person in this god forsaken city. "I'm grateful for everything your team has done and everything, it's just-" She interrupts me by putting her hand up. She smooths the ruffle across my stomach and points toward the mirror in the corner.

"You look phenomenal." I can't disagree. The dress hugs my small waist and cascades to the middle of my shins. With a few small ruffles around the top and stomach area, the dress fits me well. I thought the single strap might have been too much, but it looks good and it won't slip off. But, I don't look like me. The make-up isn't me. There's blush on my cheeks and eye shadow and lipstick. At least she kept my thick eyeliner on. _It brings out your eyes,_ my mother always told me.

"Do you like it?"

"The dress looks great."

"But...?"

"I barely recognize myself." My stylist laughs.

"That's common. You'll get used to it." I see the tinge of pain cross her features. She doesn't realize what she was saying until after she said it. She knows there's a slim chance she'll see me after the Games. A _very_ _slim_ chance.

"I want to look like me," I look Patricia in the eyes through the mirror. She reminds me of our deal we made when we met. I'd look myself during the parade, but the interview was her domain. I nod.

"As soon as your interview is over, you can come back and wipe all this junk off." She wraps an arm around me.

"Please tell me Jesse and I don't match this time."

She chuckles, "No. I didn't talk to Ethan about coordinating this time. You're welcome." I like Patricia. She's the only one who really understands me here.

* * *

I stand in line in the long hallway backstage. Television screens line the wall. It's not like they need more than one back here, but apparently they_ need_ this many. Jesse is behind me. I'm practically drowning in his cologne. The blonde girl from 1, a career, just finished her interview. Too confident.

The boy from 1, Bumper Allen, also confident.

The girl from 2. Oh god, the girl from 2. I start to pay attention at this time. This girl is different than the other careers. She still has that confident stance and look about her, but she's not like Aubrey or Bumper.

Ceaser greets her just like the other tributes and starts by asking what her strengths are. She answers saying it's a secret. This makes the crowd laugh. She knows what she's doing.

"Now, you've trained for the Games for many years, correct?"

"Yes, Ceasar, I have."

"And how do you think your training will benefit you?"

She stops and thinks for a moment before speaking. Biting her lip, she looks at the crowd then down at her hands. "Honestly, Ceasar..." she looks up to meet his eyes. "It can only benefit me so much. I mean, don't get me wrong, I appreciate it and everything, it gives me an advantage over the other tributes, but hand-to-hand combat and such doesn't happen often. We all know that by watching the Games previous years. A lot of people die by stepping in traps, or not knowing how to swim, or simply starving to death. Yeah, it benefits me by letting me focus on survival techniques during training, but that's about it."

"I see..." Ceasar trails off slightly and smiles at the crowd who are flabbergasted by Chloe's response. "How you always been a redhead?"

The crowd laughs. Ceasar's good too.

"It's all-natural," Chloe beams, running her hands through her long locks. "What is your favorite hair color choice?"

"I chose to go green this year, but I really love blue. I see you do too!" He motions to her dress. "It suits you. Maybe you should try going blue."

"Really? Should I?" She turns to the crowd and they roar in response. Laughing, she concludes saying she should keep her hair red.

"Blue would look fantastic on you!" Ceasar chuckles and gets up to hug the tribute. "Chloe Beale from District 2 everybody!" he yells, getting the crowd to roar once again. Chloe curtsies and walks off. She materializes at the front of the line backstage. Bombarded by her mentor, she shrugs off his scolding and refuses to return with him right away. She says she'd rather stay. As she heads to the back of the line where the benches are, I turn my eyes to the floor. We don't touch nor make eye contact, but I feel an energy pass through me as she walks by. I don't look back at her.

My interview passes by as a blur. I don't even remember what we talked about. My mind is stuck on the redhead from 2, Chloe Beale. We've met before on the training floor, but we have never spoken. This is really the first time I've heard her angelic voice.

She's gone by the time I get back. I look around, but she's nowhere to be found. Her mentor probably dragged her back to their apartment. I turn my attention to one of the television screens to find Jesse and Ceasar already sitting and conversing.

"So, Jesse, tell me, what is the most interesting thing about the Capitol?"

"I'd have to say the architecture."

"Really? Architecture?"

"Yep!"

"Which building in our magnificent square interests you the most?"

"I haven't had much time to get out and explore the city, but I'd have to say the City Hall building. I like to go out on the roof at night at watch the city below. I find the Capitol very interesting."

"Ah, yes. I can agree with you on that!" Ceasar pats Jesse's leg as they laugh along with the crowd. "Jesse, do you have anyone special back home?"

Jesse's smile falls a bit. "No, no I don't."

"Oh, come on now. A boy as handsome as yourself has to have _someone_."

Jesse shakes his head. "Nope."

"Ah, well, I bet when you return home the ladies won't be able to keep their hands off you! Am I right, ladies?" The crowd roars with hoots and hollers. Jesse starts to blush.

Ceasar gets serious and shakes Jesse's hand for the second time. "It was so nice to meet you. I wish you the best of luck."

"Thank you, Ceasar."

Jesse walks backstage to meet me and Luke, who just showed up. "Good job, kid," the blonde says, smacking Jesse on the back. He turns to glare at me. "Not you."

"What did I do wrong?" I ask seriously.

"Just everything."

"I don't even remember being on stage. You can't yell at me now because that's not fair."

"You know what, Sweetheart? Life's notfucking fair. Back in my Games-"

"Now, now, children. Let's not fight in front of the other Tributes," Gail says, swooping in to save the day. We all nod and head towards the elevator.

* * *

"Please welcome Beca Mitchell from District 6!" I watch myself walk across the stage. I look so small, like a child. A child in a dress that hugs her hips too tightly.

"Hello, Ceasar!" I say with too much pizzazz. I am revolting. I turn my attention away from the screen to watch Luke's face. He is expressionless, like a statue. I hear cheering, and I look back to the screen to find myself twirling around with Ceasar. We are dancing. No wonder I didn't want to remember my interview.

"You are a very good dancer," Ceasar says with a genuine smile.

"As are you," I giggle. Gross.

He sets his hand on mine, which is on the arm of the chair now, and he speaks slowly. "I'm so sorry about your parents. I'm sure it's been tough. How have you been since they passed away?"

I clear my throat on screen and off screen. "It's been tough, yes, but I've been taking care of myself. My father passed away before I was born. And my mother, she died when I was ten. I was old enough to get a job, so I got one and I've had it ever since."

"So you support yourself?"

"Yes."

"Beca Mitchell, you are an inspiration."

"I don't think so…" I look out at the crowd and my face crinkles a bit in confusion. I remember their faces. Everyone looked so sad. They shouldn't be sad. They're not the ones who lost their parents.

"Oh, but you are. You stepped up when most of us are still dependent on others. You were alone. You are very independent and that is your strength."

"Being alone for seven years is my strength?," I turn to look Ceasar in the eyes. "Losing my parents to freak accidents is my strength? Not knowing what it feels like to be loved is my strength, Ceasar? If that's the only thing that makes me strong, I'd rather be weak."

Even Ceasar was at a loss for words. I don't remember going off on that little tangent. The camera zooms in on my face, and I see tears in my own eyes. They're not there because I am sad, they're there because I am angry. Angry at what exactly is the real question.

I can feel Luke's eyes on me from across the room. I don't dare look over now. I see Gail get up from the couch out of the corner of my eye. Deciding I've had enough of these interviews, I get up and follow her. "Gail?" I call out. She turns to look at me.

"Your make up is still on."

"What?"

"Patricia told me you didn't like your make up."

"She did?" She nods. I return to my bedroom to look in the mirror. She's right.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Okay," he says barging out from a room in the back of the train car, "let's take a look at you two." _

_Luke has short, spiked and blonde hair. His muscles bulge under his small shirt. His legs are long and strong. If you saw him on the street, you would think he was from District 4 rather than 6. With tanned skin, he looks Jesse and I up and down, judging us. I can see him note the distance between the two of us. "You're now brother and sister. Congratulations."_

_"What?" I spit, startling Jesse._

_"We need a strategy to get sponsors. We're going to play the sibling love card."_

_"I don't even know him."_

_"Well, you're going to have to get acquainted because you two are going to be spending a lot of time together."_

_"Maybe," I comment under my breath, but it's quiet enough in the train car that Luke hears me._

_"You'll need him. Trust me." I roll my eyes. Luke disappears into the next train car. Jesse is looking around at all the decorations and food. He smacks his moist lips._

_"Never seen food before?" I make an attempt at a joke, but he just looks at me. He has innocent eyes. "Eat." He smirks slightly and turns toward the drinks. He pours himself a glass of scotch and downs it. Shaking my head at his attempt to show off, I run my hands along the table covered in silver plates and utensils. Everything is so shiny. It's so out of place._

_"Beca, aren't you hungry?" Gail, our escort, asks, materializing out of nowhere._

_"Not really."_

_"You should eat. You'll need the energy for later. Besides," she takes a deep breath, "you need to get used to eating Capitol-style. Your stomach won't be used to the food at first."_

_"So I'll throw up?"_

_"Maybe."_

_"Fantastic." She smiles at me, glad that I'm finally talking, and she walks over to scold Jesse for drinking underage._

_He starts to argue, "I'm dead anyways." I can practically hear Gail trying to clear the lump from her throat. I wouldn't know what to say either if I was in her shoes, dealing with dead children while they're still alive, watching them prepare to be slaughtered by another child._

_Gail shows me to my room after realizing I'm not going to eat right now. My bedroom in this train is as big as my entire house. Leaving me to explore my temporary home, Gail leaves and shuts the door behind her. I flop down on the bed immediately. For some reason, this day has been exhausting. I curl up under the blanket in my reaping clothes and close my eyes, anticipating slumber._

_It never comes._

_I hear a light knock on my door followed by the soft click of it opening. Expecting Gail, I'm surprised when it's Jesse's voice I hear. "Beca? Dinner will be in fifteen minutes. Luke wants to talk to us afterwards." I mumble in reply, waiting for the door to click once again, but instead I feel him sit down on the edge of the bed. "Listen, I know it's hard to leave 6 like this, but we can get through this. We can get through this together." I open my eyes to look at him. He's sitting down by my feet, and he is looking down at the floor. I can't help but feel angry at him. For what, I'm not sure._

_I open my mouth to yell at him, but instead the words "I don't know how this happened," come out. I don't know why I said it, but it causes him to look up at me. The skin around his eyes are puffy, and I realize he's been crying. This whole thing has affected him more than me. I struggle to explain myself, "I never took a tesserae. Never needed it. My name was in there only six times."_

_His eyes evade mine once again as he replies. "Mine was in 49 times. I took it every year for every member of my family." I had forgotten he had a big family. The oldest of four, the only male. His voice cracks, "I just want to go home." I don't know what to do, so I just lie there and watch him cry. It's over quickly, and he wipes the salty tears from his cheeks. Getting up to leave, he makes his way to the door._

_"I- I'm sorry." He turns to look at me, sniffling._

_"Don't forget about dinner." I nod slightly._

_Dinner is boring and filled with small talk. The avoxes bring us our food and take away our dirty dishes. They just stand in the corner and watch, waiting to wait on us hand and foot. I don't like it, but I can't do anything about it._

_"Beca, Jesse, meet me in the television room," Luke orders, getting up from his seat and pushing past us._

_"I'm going to wash up first," I say quietly. To my surprise, he nods and let's me go._

_I haven't had a hot shower in a very long time. We get electricity in 6 all day long, but I can't afford to pay for a water heater. I can barely afford to keep my parent's house, but I manage. I've worked and saved since I was ten, but the economy crashed around the time my parents died. It crashed in 6 at least. Trains and hovercrafts weren't in as high as a demand as our mayor had thought. Most of what we build is train tracks and replacement parts, but work can only last so long because every district has enough tracks. Or at least that's what I believe. Travel between districts is illegal, unless it's for occasions like this one, The Hunger Games, or if someone is requested at the Capitol. Even though I'm going to die, this is a rare opportunity. I get to see the districts as we pass by. But it's not a fair trade-off._

_"What is this?" I ask, walking into the television room. There's one giant screen in the middle of the wall with couches and chairs set up facing it. I figured we were going to watch the other reapings, given they're scattered throughout the day and televised live, but instead Luke and Jesse are watching an old Hunger Games._

_"Sit," Luke orders, pointing at the empty chair._

_"No." He quirks a brow but turns his attention back to the screen. "Why are we watching this?" Jesse shushes me. "Shouldn't we be watching a reaping? Getting to see our competition?"_

_"Shut up. This is the end." Gail walks in a few seconds later and sits in the seat Luke told me to sit in. She stiffens as the camera rests on a blond boy. He looks oddly familiar, but all the Victors are familiar looking. "Haymitch Abernathy."_

_"Why are we watching this one specifically?" I ask. Luke puts his hand up to silence me and points at the screen. All I can see is two bloody tributes too weak to fight. Haymitch falls to ground just as a girl throws her axe. It misses and falls off the edge of the cliff. I don't understand how he wins._

_And then the axe comes flying back up and lodges itself in the girl's head. Jesse claps his hands and laughs. Gail sinks back in her chair. Luke smiles at me._

_"Wha- how? How did that happen?" I question. Luke smirks._

_"Haymitch is a genius." I think I see Gail nod in agreement, but I'm not sure. "Earlier in the games, he had tossed a pebble off the cliff and it bounced back up to him. The Capitol has changed their forcefields so they don't bounce anymore. Most of the time, they're electric and will kill you if you touch them. I wanted you two to see this specific game because Haymitch is from 12. This is the second Quarter Quell. 48 Tributes go in, one comes out. And it was a boy from 12. Just imagine that. Everyone bet against him, thinking the boy from the coal district would suck, and he defied them all by outsmarting his opponents. Now, I'm not saying you should pull a stunt like he did, but just use your heads out there. Be smart. Don't make the obvious choice."_

_Jesse was nodding along with his every word. I roll my eyes, but store that information in the back of my mind, and announce I'm going back to bed._

_Just like before, I'm left without sleep, just staring into the darkness until our train pulls into the station at the Capitol. I didn't think it'd take us very long to get here. As I walk, still in my reaping clothes, to the exit of the train, Luke pulls me and Jesse aside._

_"As soon as you step off this train, you'll be taken immediately to your stylist and prep team. They are going to do things to you, and you cannot resist." His eyes bear into mine. "Don't resist." How bad could it be?_

_Very bad._

_Very, very bad._

_The prep team rips the hair off my legs and body, making my skin raw. They rub my sore body down with thick oil that burns. The girl with bright orange hair tries to calm me down by saying it'll start to soothe my skin, but it just burns. Another member of the team starts to scrub away at my forearms with what feels like steel wool. I wince and try to pull away, resisting like I was told not to. "We're almost done," he says, grabbing my arm and holding it down as he continues to scrub away my scars. I start to whimper and the orange-haired woman starts to pet my hair, as if that's supposed to soothe me. It just makes me want to bite her hand._

_They rinse me down one last time and leave to get my stylist "Fat Amy." I'm left standing in the room naked without a robe or anything to cover myself with. My skin burns, and I don't want to move. My stylist comes in and greets me with a hello. She's a short, about my height, and ample woman with blonde hair that actually looks natural. It's a nice change from what I've seen since I've arrived._

_"Call me Fat Amy, or Fat Patricia. Whichever you prefer," she says with a smile. I try to smile back, but it's a little awkward to when I'm standing stark naked in front of her. She walks around me a few times, checking out my body and red spots rubbed raw by her prep team. She disappears behind me and I feel something drape over my shoulders a minute later. "Cover up and we'll talk." I smile genuinely and put my arms through the robe and tie it shut. I join my stylist on the couch in the corner._

_"Now, we should discuss the Tribute Parade. Jesse's stylist, Ethan, and I have decided we should collaborate and have similar outfits so you two look like partners."_

_"Okay." I'm scared because one can only do so much with District 6. The Tribute's outfit is supposed to reflect their District._

_"And I know what you're thinking, and no, it won't look stupid," she laughs. "For your make up, I want to experiment a bit. You know, play around."_

_"Can we not do a lot? I don't want to look unrecognizable."_

_"Good idea. We'll go light today, and for your interview, after the crowd knows your face, we'll use a bit more, okay?" I smile. "Good. Now let's get you into your suit, hmm?" Suit? Okay, now I'm scared._

_To my surprise, the skin-tight suit doesn't hurt my sensitive skin. It feels more like a blanket than thick leather. Patricia wanted to take off my thick eyeliner, but I asked her to keep it on. It's the only make up I wore back in 6, and I want to keep it._

_Jesse is wearing a very similar suit, almost the same to be exact. There's a line of bright silver down the center of the suit with notches to make it not a straight line. On one side, there's dark gray. On the other, reflective silver. In the mirror, we look like we complete each other. Patricia rushes us onto the chariot. Our horses are dark grey. The anthem plays as District 1's chariot starts to move. Ours follows in line and soon enough we're traveling through the streets of the Capitol. Jesse looks around at the buildings, mesmerized, and he starts to tip over a bit, losing his balance. I grab his arm and steady him. He gives my hand a light squeeze before I drop it._

_To my surprise, as our chariot passes by the clumps of gold, pink, blues, and greens of the crowd, they scream our names and this makes me happy. We may not be as dazzling as the Tributes of 1 or as exciting as the sparkling suits on 3, but they won't forget us. Jesse grabs my hand and lifts his arm above our heads, to show our pride. I go with the gesture even though his clammy hands are the last thing I want to touch. I look at our intertwined hands and my eyes follow the silver of our suits. I glance up at one of the screens along the street and see how we do look like one. Our stylists were successful._

_The row of chariots trot up to President Snow's mansion and come to a halt. The anthem finishes strong and the city falls silent as Snow walks out on his balcony. He thanks us for our sacrifice and gives us the signature "Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor" line, then we start off again to the training center, our final destination. As we turn into the building, I start to feel a bit dizzy._

_The doors of the center shut behind us and I see all the tributes hop off their chariots and talk with their mentors. This is the first time I really get to see my competition. I look around even though I feel like I could fall over at any minute. Might as well get a good look now before we start training. There's a tall blonde from 1 with a menacing glare. She's probably a bitch. There's a small boy from 12 who looks about thirteen. A shame, really. I spot a boy with an afro from 2 standing with a redhead. Her back is to me, but she turns around before my eyes move on to the next group. Our eyes lock for a solid minute, my eyes staring into hers and vice versa. I feel light-headed and I start to sway a bit, but my eyes never leave hers. I see a ghost of a smile on her lips as she turns away from me to follow who I would guess is her mentor. This is when I allow myself to collapse._

_"Luke!" Jesse calls out, now by my side, holding my head up off the floor. Everything is going black and I feel myself slipping into darkness._

_"You, take her up to the sixth floor apartment," Luke orders to someone, and I feel strong arms around me a second later. I'm lifted off the ground and carried through the crowd. The last thing I remember is the soft ding of an elevator._

* * *

I wake up screaming and drenched in sweat as always. I know where I am this time, thankfully, so I don't need to calm myself down. I see a shadow out of the corner of my eye and find Gail's outline through the frosted glass of my door. She knocks softly and walks in. It was smart of her to wait until I was done screaming; I didn't want to see the concern in her eyes again. "Up, up up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!" she says, as cheery as ever. She has to be cheery; today is the day. Today is the day that seals my fate. Today is the beginning of the Games, my Games.

I take a hot shower for the last time. It tastes sour in my mouth, saying "the last time." I'm seventeen. I shouldn't be saying these things, but I am. This is the last time I eat a full meal. This is the last time I will see Luke, or Gail, or Patricia. This is the last time I will feel safe. This could be my last day to live.

Gail comes back in my room after my shower to check up on me. I ask her to stay and talk, she does. She tells me about her older sister, Effie, who is the escort for 12. "She requested it," she tells me. I ask why. "Most people see the people of 12 as scum who will never amount to anything, but she sees them as so much more. She sees them as..." she waves her hand around, searching for the right word.

"Underdogs?" I suggest.

"Yes! Underdogs. It's a dangerous way to think nowadays." She continues on about her sister and her job. Effie works with Haymitch, the only living victor from 12, which explains her weird actions while we watched his Games on the train. I ask if I should try to team up with the tributes from 12 this year, and she says no. They're not reliable, according to Haymitch. My mind goes back to the Tribute Parade and seeing the little boy with the innocent face covered in black dust. He won't last a day.

"I like your hair like this. Blonde and natural. You should keep it this way." She smiles at me and says thank you. I return the gesture effortlessly. Gail isn't as bad as I had first imagined.

"Well, I better leave you to saying your good-byes to your bed," she jokes. Getting up to leave, she stops and turns to face me half way to the door when I call out her name.

"Yeah?" she asks.

"What happened in Luke's Games?"

She smiles warily, "I'll tell you about it after breakfast, okay?"

"Okay."

As she reaches the door, she turns one more time to talk to me. "Oh, and Beca? Remember this: you're stronger than they are. You're smarter than they are. You can win." I stare into her eyes. I'm too far away to tell, but I think she's crying. "Promise me one thing?"

"What?" I reply, my voice quiet and soft.

"You'll come home. You'll survive. You'll return safely." Her bottom lip quivers as she finishes.

"I- I can't promise anything." I feel something on my cheek, and I wipe it away. Rubbing my fingers together, I find I'm crying. When I look up, Gail's gone.

She's not at breakfast.

She's not with Luke when we say our good-byes.

"Beca," Luke starts, putting his hands on my shoulders, "don't forget who you are." I find his advice quizzical, but I nod. "Be strong. Fight when only necessary. Don't forget to stick with Jesse; you two need each other. Don't grab anything from the Cornucopia, no matter what you see, and run as soon as the buzzer goes off. You just run and run and don't stop, got it?" I nod again. "And find water. Water is your best friend." I crinkle my brow, trying to store everything he's rambling on about. I know it's all important, but he's talking too fast. We don't hug, we don't need to. I turn to walk to the hovercraft. "Sweetheart?" I turn around to see my mentor's face for the last time. "Win."

On the hovercraft, after I get my tracking device inserted, I space out, letting my mind drift back to day I got my training score. I had no idea what to do to show off my skills; I don't have any. I recall climbing a rope that was hanging in the arena as quickly as I could then showing off my "sword skills" that I apparently have on an innocent dummy. I got a 7. That's not bad for a girl from 6. A 7 for agility and minimal fighting skills.

I begin to think about what the other tributes got. The careers all got solid 10's. Jesse got an 8 for brute strength. The girl from 3, Lilly, got a 10. The boy from 3 got a 9. Other tributes that I remember got an 8 or lower. No 11's this year.

My mind snaps back to reality as I feel the hovercraft start to lower. We're all rushed into our individual preparation rooms, where our stylists are waiting to say their good-byes. Patricia is waiting for me with a jacket in-hand. I slip it on quickly. We have about a half hour before the countdown starts and I must be above ground. We sit in comfortable silence as she plays with my hair, braiding and undoing it then braiding it again. It relaxes me; it's something my mother used to do when she got home from work.

"Here," she says, handing me a photograph, the same one Margret gave me before I left 6.

"How did you get this?"

"Gail found it on your bedside table. I figured it would pass for your token."

"I thought you had to wear your token?" I say as more of a question than a statement. She puts her index finger to her lips and smiles.

"It'll be our little secret." I hug her immediately. I didn't realize I how much this woman has meant to me until now. When we pull away, she hands me a glass of water. The last glass of water I will ever drink. She sits down on one of the two chairs in the room, and I opt to sit on her lap. I curl up and rest my head against her shoulder, like a young child. Not long after, we get the call. I stand and she straightens out the wrinkles in my jacket.

"Thank you," I say in a voice I barely recognize. It's strained, laced with pain. I don't want to go.

We embrace once more. Patricia whispers in my ear, "I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could, my money would be on you." I smile, trying to laugh to make myself feel better, but instead a sob escapes my lips. She rubs my back.

We pull away for the last time and she wipes a single tear from my face then kisses my cheek. I take a deep breath and step onto the circular metal plate in the corner. Seconds later I'm encased in a thick plastic tube and I'm cut off from Patricia, from my District, from life. I see my stylist smile weakly at me, holding back tears herself, and wave. The cylinder I'm encased in begins to rise, and I'm stuck in complete darkness for fifteen seconds before I break into a coughing fit due to the thick air. I squint my eyes, irritated by the dim light, and regain my composure. I can't look weak. Not now. Not when it matters.

I hear Claudius Templesmith, the legendary announcer's, voice boom all around me. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games begin!"

I stand on my pedestal for sixty seconds, looking around at the scenery. And by scenery, I mean wasteland. The air is thick with dust and ash. I catch a glimpse of green out of the corner of my eye when I look behind me the best I can. I don't want to move my feet; if I misstep, I'm dead. Our platforms are surrounded by mines that are active until the buzzer sounds. There are brick buildings, half destroyed, some of them completely, scattered among the dead grass and cement. It looks like this place has been bombed or something. I've never seen architecture like this before. Architecture. I look over to meet eyes with Jesse. He gulps and glances over at a bag near him. I shake my head. His eyes plead with me. I shake my head again. I see his fists clench along with his jaw as he contemplates whether it's worth the risk. It's not, but I see it in his eyes; he thinks it is. I'm faster than him, but I'm not fast enough to grab anything here. It's not worth it.

The buzzer goes off and all Hell breaks loose. I turn and sprint as fast as I possibly can towards the green, towards the only place water will be. As I hear screams and cannons ring out, I keep sprinting. I focus on my breathing. In and out, in and out. I search for a place to hide and wait out the chaos, but come up empty. As soon as I reach the treeline, I keep my eyes up, scrambling to find a tree with enough leaves to cover me. I find one and scale it easily. I sit and wait, catching my breath, as cannons shoot off one after the other.

Cannon.

Cannon.

Cannon.

Cannon.

Silence.

I wasn't able to count the cannons, but I hope one of them doesn't belong to Jesse. I don't know if I can do this alone.

Salvation in disguise comes quickly, to my surprise. Jesse stumbles around on the ground below me. "Jesse," I hiss. He doesn't hear me. "Jesse!" I hiss louder. This time he looks up. I climb down and take him in. There's blood splattered all over his shirt, but there's no visual damage. "You okay?" He nods and hands me a knife as he exhales. I take it in my hands. "This is a tactile knife. How'd you get this?"

"I found it." My eyes find the bag hanging off his back.

"In the bag?" I sigh.

"No...in the girl from 8..."

"Jessica..." I breathe. I thought she had potential. "Well, thanks." He smiles weakly. "How'd you find me so quickly?"

"What?"

"The Games started like a half hour ago."

"Beca, what are you talking about?"

"I found this tree like ten minutes ago. What are _you_ talking about?" His jaw slacks in disbelief and this confuses me to no end. He doesn't answer, and it aggravates me. "Out with it."

"Beca, the Games started four hours ago." I feel my stomach drop.

"Wh-what?" I choke out.

"Yeah," he nods hard. "Did you blackout again?"

"I- I must have." I feel sick. I lean back against the tree I took refugee in and try to calm myself down. "I have a problem, Jesse."

"At least you're alive."

"Yeah," I exhale. "At least I'm alive." Jesse gestures to my tree and quirks a brow. "It's good cover, really. I don't know if we can sleep in it though." He smirks and pulls the bag off his back. He reaches in and pulls out a rope and bungee cord. A smile breaks across my face.

"Take the bungee cord. We'll tie ourselves to the tree. Get up quickly, it's going to get dark soon and I don't think I can climb in the dark." I take the blue cord and start my way up. He follows right behind. Due to my smaller size, I take a lower branch to sleep on, letting Jesse take the sturdier branch a few feet above me on the other side of the trunk. I tie myself in and tighten it as much as possible.

We sit in complete silence for a few hours, letting darkness overtake the arena. A cannon goes off periodically. "Good night, Beca," Jesse whispers through the silence.

"Night," I reply. I wait until the nightly report of the dead comes on before I even think about shutting my eyes. The anthem plays and I see the faces of the fallen Tributes stretch across the night sky. The boy from 4, both from 5, Jessica from 8, the boy from 8, the girl from 9, both from 10, and the thirteen year old from 12.

I put the images of the dead at the back of my mind as I lean against the cold tree and ever so slowly drift off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm in a dark room, if I'm in a room at all. I see a girl approach me. She has dark brown hair which cascades in a braid down her shoulder. Her face is kind yet stern, and I hear my heart beat faster and faster the closer she gets. My ears are practically pounding when she stops walking. Suddenly, flames engulf us, and I wince, expecting to burn, but the flames don't hurt me. In fact, they're warm and oddly comforting. The light from the fire brightens the girl's face. She's about my age with delicate facial features. She's wearing a long, white gown. She smiles at me. It's not forced; it's the most genuine smile I've ever seen. I can see the warmth in her eyes._

_She holds something out to me. The flames flicker and grow stronger as her hand reaches mine. She sets the object in my palm and closes my hand around it, smiles at me, and disappears._

_I open my palm to find a small ball of fire. I reach through the flames with my other hand and pull out a small golden pin of a Mockingjay._

* * *

"Beca!" I hear Jesse yell. "Beca are you okay?" He rests a hand on my back, which shoots pains down my spine.

"Get off of me!"

"I'm barely touching you," he responds. I blink hard and look around. I'm on the ground. How the Hell did I get here? "You fell," he says, as if he could read my thoughts. "You came untied."

"Fantastic."

"Who's Katniss?"

"What?" I look up at him, trying to get up. Pain shoots up my spine with every move.

"You screamed 'Katniss' when you hit the ground."

"I don't know anyone by that name." I manage to get to my feet and wipe the ash and dirt off the front of my jacket. "Wait, did you say I _screamed_ that name?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Grab your bag."

"Wh-"

"Now!" It finally hits him that I had screamed. Any minute now the careers, or any other Tributes, would show up and slaughter us without a fight.

Jesse climbs the tree once more and grabs the rope from his branch then meets me down on the ground. We start running without a destination. We just need to get away from here as fast as we possibly can.

We run into an empty building that seems safe enough, as safe as a half-blown up building can look. The rooms are dark, covered in layers of ash and dust, but as travel through the halls, we find the further you travel, the less dirty it is. We head up some crumbling stairs and go from room to room, looking for any hidden supplies, or even refugee. Especially refugee, now that I'm thinking about it. The tree was a good idea, but I can't sleep in a tree every night, whether or not I have night terrors.

We settle on the cleanest room in the building; the dust is thin and the air is as good as it's going to get. There's a window, or what I would guess where a window would go, in the small room overlooking the area outside. It's actually not a bad spot to hold up in, as long as we can keep an eye on the only staircase and make sure we're safe. Jesse looks out the window, stepping on shattered glass strewn about the floor, and sighs. I take this downtime to explore the room and let my thoughts wander. Who _is_ Katniss and _why_ was she in my dream? As I open what I would suppose as a closet door, I try to materialize the mystery girl's face in my mind, but all I can make out is her braid. And the pin. The pin, glistening in the fire. If I think hard enough, I can still feel the warmth of it in my hand. But why? What was so-

"I'm hungry," Jesse calls out, interrupting my thought.

I almost reply telling him to get it himself, but then I remember what Luke told me. We're a team. We're supposed to work together. That's the only way we'll survive.

"Okay."

I can hear the surprise in his voice, "Let's not go back to the wooded area for a while. We should scope out some more of the arena before we settle to hunt." _To hunt._ _To hunt what, exactly?_

"We should probably wait an hour or so before heading out. Just in case people are looking for us."

"Good idea," he says, slumping down against the wall opposite me. He runs his finger along the floor and rubs his fingertips together. "It's dusty in here."

I nod my head, not wanting to talk about ash and dust. "Did you do it?" I ask, looking up to hold his gaze.

"Do what?"

"Kill her." He looks at me with a quizzical facial expression. "Jessica."

"Jessica..." he scratches his cheek. "The girl from 8?"

"Jessica," I nod.

"No, I didn't kill her."

"How'd you get blood on your shirt then?"

He shuffles his feet uncomfortably and rubs his forearm. "I, um, fell."

"Fell?"

"I got the bag and turned to sprint away, but I tripped over one of the pedestals. And I- I landed on her." He swallows hard but continues. "I felt something hit me in the chest and knock the wind out of me, and when I pulled myself up enough to see what it was, I saw it was the handle of a knife."

"So she was dead when you fell on her?"

"Definitely. I felt horrible, but I needed to get out of there before I was killed. I took the knife and ran."

"But, Jesse, you brought two knives, not one. How'd you get the other one?"

"It was..." his hands collapse on his lap and his eyes follow. "It was in her face."

"What?" I choke out.

"That's why I couldn't remember her name. She was covered in blood. I only recognized her by her hair." There were tears streaming down his face and this was when I realized he actually cares. It's easy to forget how innocent he is. He may be older than me, but he's more of a kid than I ever was.

We sit in silence for the rest of the our time. I let him cry silently against the wall. I took the liberty of trying to count the number of glass shards on the floor. There' not much to look at in this place. "Let's go," Jesse says and gets up. I follow.

Jesse leaves his rope in the closet of our temporary home. I protest that we might need it, but he shrugs it off. With an eye roll from me, we're back out in the grass. We move to the back of the building and find that this is where the darkness begins, the burnt grass and trees with the ground covered in ash. One side of our home is beautiful and the other dead.

"Hey. Look over there," Jesse whispers, pointing at a black board.

"That's really interesting, Jesse."

"Let's go look at it," he says, untouched by my sarcasm. He skips ahead and starts to wipe away some of the black ash.

"Dude, that's sick. Don't touch that." He smiles up at me with this side-smirk I've never seen on him before. "What?"

"You called me dude."

"Oh, shut up," I smirk. I join him on the ground, resting on my knees, as he goes hard at the grime, but he can't seem to make a dent. "What's so important about this anyways?"

"_It's a sign." _He smirks back over at me, but it drops when he sees how confused I am. "They never put signs in arenas. I want to see their fuck up."

"You're an idiot," I mock.

"Idiot and dude in one day? Mitchell, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're starting to like me."

Maybe I am.

Back in the training center, I was never alone with Jesse; there was always Luke or Gail there. Now that I have, he's not as bad as I had thought.

I softly pat him on the back. "Don't get used to it." He laughs and turns back to focus on his work.

After a few minutes, he gives up, but practically squeals when he can make out a whole word. "Barden," he says proudly. "It says Barden."

"Wow, interesting!" I smile wide and I can see the hint of anger in his features. My sarcasm is bothering him, and I love it. "Now let's go get some food before my stomach eats itself." He nods and stands, looking at the sign again.

"Barden," he says under his breath.

"Come on, Barden Boy."

"You are coming around, Becs!"

"Don't," I warn, spinning around to look him dead in the eye, "use that name ever again." He nods a few times with his hands in the air mocking defeat. "Just don't."

_"Becs, I'm home!" _

_"Daddy!" I screamed, running into his extended arms._

_He lifted me up into the air then cuddled me in his arms. "How's my big girl doing this morning, hmm? Eating breakfast? What is it today?"_

_"Oatmeal!" I squealed, hugging his thick neck. _

_"Always oatmeal," he chuckled as he set me down on the ground. He got down on one knee, looking into my innocent face. "I'm going to go wash up, then I'll be back to eat with you, okay?" I nodded furiously, and he ruffed my hair with his larger-than-life hand. He kissed me on the cheek. "I love you, Becs."_

_"I love you too, Daddy!"_

I wipe the tears from my eyes before they can fall. That's one of the only memories of my father I have. My mom told me he always called me Becs. That name is reserved for his lips only.

We stroll over back to the only wooded area we've found so far. It's a risk, given this is where I screamed this morning, but that was a few hours ago. And besides, going anywhere in the arena is a risk. Jesse and I climb separate trees, waiting to see a squirrel or something scatter by, but I know we won't see anything. And we never do.

"My ass hurts and my back's not much better. Let's get down and walk for a bit," I half-whine half-suggest. Jesse complies and soon enough we're walking through a part of the arena we haven't been before. There is cement everywhere, creating pathways for us to use, sidewalks and such, but we walk beside it. Our boots make too much noise when we walk on it.

I stare down at my feet, taking care not to step on any twigs or kick up more ash, but I look down mostly to ignore the world around me. A cannon or two have gone off today, and that's not as much as there usually is. More people die in the first two days than the rest of the entire Games.

I glance up to make sure we're not walking into a trap or anything, and I accidentally meet eyes with Jesse. His eyes...I can't explain it, but there's something there I haven't seen before. Suddenly, he moves and we're pressed up against a dead tree and his lips are on mine. They're hard and forceful, and it disgusts me. I shove him off of me immediately. "Jesse, what the Hell? We're supposed to be brother and sister!"

He's at a loss for words, but it only takes him a few seconds to find them. "If I'm going to die, I want you to know how I feel. How I truly feel. Beca, I like you...a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I know it's stupid because we're here and there's no way both of can make it out." I stare at him, unsure of what to say. To put it lightly, the feelings are not mutual, but I can't bring myself to say it. I can't tell him. Not when he's looking at me like he is, with his innocent eyes.

He moves in to hug me, and I push him away. He's confused, but he tries again. I push him away a little harder this time. He trips over the strip of cement and falls backwards, tumbling down. I expect him to stop, but he doesn't. He falls out of my view and I run over to find him rolling down steps. Cement steps. I hear his knife clink against the steps with each hit until he finally stops at the bottom, slumped over. Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm sprinting down the steps after him.

There's blood on the ground, but he looks okay. Yeah, he looks okay.

I fall to the ground and cup his head and my hands. "Jesse?" My voice is strained and I can feel my heart pounding in my ears. _Not now. _He doesn't respond. _Not now. I need you._

I feel his muscles relax in my hands and a cannon goes off. _No._

I feel tears in my eyes, but I refuse to blink. I can't let them fall. I can't show weakness. Not this early into the Games.

I hear boots smacking against cement, and I pull out Jesse's knife from his waistband and stand with it point towards the noise. I almost drop the knife when I see who it is.

It's her.

It's Chloe.

She has blood running down her face and her eyes are wide, but they aren't looking at my knife, they're looking into my own eyes. I can see the fear in them. They're begging me for help. Her eyes flash down at Jesse's lifeless body then back up at my eyes. She's not afraid of me; I can tell.

I better not regret this.

I pull off Jesse's jacket and bag and head back towards the safe house at a quickened pace. I glance behind me to see if she's following. She is.

I've never been this close to her before, except once, during training. There was one day where we went to almost all the same stations without speaking nor looking each other in the eye. It started with sword training, which she was obviously better than me at. We rotated and both went to fire making. She had to get assistance a few times. I got it on my first try. Another rotation led us both to a test of upper arm strength, the monkey-bars. It sounds lame, but I watched a boy in front of us fall and twist his ankle badly, so it was a pretty serious training exercise. We met again at the snare station. We both sucked at that.

I lead her up the stairs to the safe room. I guess I could start calling it my room. I put down the jacket and bag in the corner where I sat last time, and Chloe just looks around. "You're staying here?"

"Yeah," I say. My back is to her.

"Smart idea."

"Thanks." I look out of the corner of my eye to find her sitting down in the spot where _he_ sat. I dig through his bag to find a canteen, one which I had no idea was in his possession, and walk over to her, handing it over. She smiles weakly and dabs some water on her fingers then proceeds to clean her wound the best she can. "What happened?" I ask, standing back and away from the window and the girl.

"I fell. Hit my head on a rock." She chuckles, "I'm such an idiot."

"Hey, I fell out of a tree yesterday. Don't feel too bad." She smiles at my lame attempt to cheer her up. I return it.

"Why were you in a tree?"

"I slept in it."

"I didn't get to sleep last night."

"Where's your group?" I ask, changing the subject. Chloe is a career; she's supposed to be in a group.

"I got separated. Bumper, the stubby boy from 1, thought it'd be funny to try to cut down a Tracker Jacker nest. God, he's so immature. Anyways, it fell and broke. I ran away, tripped, got cut, then ran into you. I didn't see the others. I just heard buzzing and yelps and Aubrey telling Bumper how stupid he is." She lightly chuckles at the memory. "I'm glad I got away," she adds quietly.

"Why?"

"I'll tell you about it tomorrow. I'm really tired. Where do you sleep in here?"

I look around. There really isn't a good place to lay down for the night with that window missing. "The closet," I decide, pointing to the door to my left.

"A closet?" she asks, a smile breaking across her face.

I get up to open the door and find Jesse's rope lying there. I forgot it was in here. I pick it up and hold it in my hands. I shouldn't be sad; it's just rope. I toss it over into the far corner, away from the closet. Chloe ignores it and stands up, walking over to me.

"You can sleep in here."

"And where are you going to sleep?" she questions.

"I was going to stay up. I'm not really that tired. I can guard the hallway or something."

"But when you do get tired, where are you going to sleep?"

"Over there," I say, pointing at the corner with the rope.

"Beca, it's cold at night. I can't let you sleep out here." I feel weird when she says my name. It feels...right.

"I have two jackets now," I argue, but I feel like there's a rock in my stomach pulling me down when I do.

"Nonsense. Just join me in here when you're sleepy, okay? Otherwise, I'll have to drag you in there myself. And you don't want that," she smiles.

I have to suppress the smile pulling at my lips. "Fine," I say, acting like I'm defeated.

"Good. See you soon then," she winks then steps into the closet and shuts the door.

_Oh my god she winked at me._

It only took about half an hour, or what felt like half and hour, before I decided I wanted to go to bed. I slowly opened the closet door and sat down in the opposite side of Chloe. I have to drape my bent legs over hers, but we fit well enough.

I can practically hear Luke screaming at the TV screen right now. I know all of Panem is seeing this, or parts of it. It's not everyday a career leaves her group to seek refugee with a tribute from 6.

No matter the cost of being down those stairs at that time, I'm grateful it turned out like this. I just wish the price was a little less. Maybe Jesse would be out in the hallway right now guarding us. Or maybe Chloe would be dead, killed by his hand.

I try to push all the what ifs from my head and focus in on Chloe's calm face. There's a light glow coming from under the door and it's just enough to light up her face. I thought earlier maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to let her come here, but now I can't see my day ending any other way.


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm warming up by the fireplace when I hear a knock on the door. It's odd to have a fireplace in the house when it takes up most of the living room, but my mother wanted it and what she wanted, she got. I can't really complain; I love it too._

_I open the door to find two Peacekeepers with sad faces and drenched clothes from the rain. "Are you Beca Mitchell?"_

_"Yes," I say, looking up at the man._

_"Are you home alone?"_

_"No," I lie. "My aunt is in bed." It's the lie my mother told me to always use if Peacekeepers came around. If they knew I was home alone all the time, I might be taken away to live at the Orphanage. I've seen kids at school who live in that place. I don't want to be like them._

_"Well, give this to her when she wakes up." The man hands me a paper. "I'm sorry," he says then turns and leaves with the other Peacekeeper. He's sorry? Sorry for what?_

_I shut the door and return to my spot by the fire before I unfold the paper. I read the first few lines and the paper slips out of hands and into the fire. "No!" I scream, sticking my hand in after it, but it's too far gone. Tears stream down my face, and the cause is a mixture of the burns on my fingers and utter despair. My mother is dead._

_My father is dead, now my mother joins him._

_When will I?_

* * *

Chloe is gone. It's the first thought that pops into my head when I awake. She's gone.

I stretch my legs and yawn. I'm short enough to actually lie down in this closet, but I'm too sore. I think I really messed up my back. Standing up proves I messed it up. I open the door to delightfully find Chloe peering out of the window. "I thought you had left," I say quietly, not wanting to scare her. She turns with a smile but it drops as soon as she sees me.

"Are you okay?" She rushes over to me and feels my forehead. "You're covered in sweat!" I swallow to try to calm the butterflies in my stomach.

"Nightmare." Her hand softly wipes away the sweat from my brow.

"Want to talk about it?" I shake my head and she takes a step back with a glossy look in her eyes, which are now trained on the floor. "I have nightmares too. Sometimes. But, we don't have to talk about that." She smiles at me and goes back to the window, leaving enough room on either side of her for me to join. I take the hint and move in next to her on her right. "I'm surprised the room isn't filled with more ash."

"Yeah. The closet was pretty clean too."

"Speaking of the closet," she nods her head back towards it, "we should keep the door closed at all times."

"That's actually a really good idea. I'd rather not breathe in ashes all night long." I go shut the door and return to Chloe's side. She's smiling up at the sky and over at the trees and down at the grass, and I'm just watching her. I'm watching her eyes grow brighter with each blink and her smile get a little wider with each breath. She's taking my breath away with each passing second.

I peel my eyes and body away from her and sit down with my aching back against the wall. I can't let the Capitol know how I feel. It's not because I'm gay or anything like that, it's the fact that they find it entertaining when a Tribute loses something they hold dear, which is usually their ally, and right now Chloe and I are allies. I can't let them take her away.

Most people would say the Gamemakers don't interfere with the Games once they're started, but I think that's bullshit. With enough power to create an entire arena, they could destroy us all with a click of a button.

"I think I know where we are," Chloe says, plopping down next to me, a little too close. Too close for someone like Jesse, but Chloe isn't Jesse.

"We're in an arena constructed by Gamemakers, yes, Chloe, good job," I smirk over at her. She playfully punches my shoulder.

She turns her body so she's facing me. "I mean what the arena actually is, you know. They're not just half-standing buildings. They, in theory, would have a purpose."

"And what's that?" I urge her on.

She leans in close, with her lips almost touching my ear, whispers like these words are for me only, but I know she just doesn't want the Capitol to know what she's saying. "This was a university." Her lips linger for a moment, and I can feel her breath on the side of my face. It sends shivers down my spine, but I don't let her see what she does to me. After a few seconds, she pulls back and I can see the excitement glistening in her eyes.

"A university?" I ask.

"Yeah." She bites her lip trying to gauge my reaction, and I can feel the butterflies take off again in my stomach. "Do you know what that is?"

I laugh nervously, "I've never heard of it."

"Most people haven't, I guess. I read about it in a book once. It's a place people went to in order to further their education."

"Like a trade school?"

"Yes, except instead of learning a new trade, people learned about all sorts of things. Literature, history, biology, mathematics, other sciences, and even music. Lots of things. Man, I'd kill to go to one..." she trailed off with her eyes wide. "I mean..."

"I saw a sign," I interrupt, saving her from stumbling over her words.

"A sign?"

"It had a name on it, but it's caked with dirt and ash. All I could read was 'Barden'."

"Barden." she breathes. Jumping to her feet, she grabs my hand. "Show me."

"Let me grab the bag first." I stand with her assistance and toss Jesse's bag over my shoulder. "Let's go."

* * *

"I swear it was right here," I say while pointing at a mound of black ash and dirt. "I swear it was _right here._"

"I believe you." Chloe looks up at the clouds then back down at me.

"Dude, I have no idea what happened but it was here."

"Dude," she mocks and sets a hand on my shoulder, "I believe you. Besides, you can tell there was something here. The dirt is piled up funny." She kicks one of the piles with her boot. "I'm hungry."

"Me too. We're going to have to hunt for a squirrel or something."

"Not necessarily," she rings out as her hand drops from my shoulder to my hand and tugs lightly. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"The first night in here I found a little pond. Almost fell in it." I laugh and she glares at me.

"You really need to take more care with where you're stepping."

"Shut it, Mitchell," she tries to threaten, but I see her smile as she turns away.

The pond is in the wooded area, which isn't really a surprise, but I wonder just how many people besides us are coming around here.

"Can I have one of the knives? I want to go look around real fast." Look around? Look at what? I hand her the knife from my belt and get out Jesse's from the bag to use for myself. "Thanks," she says, taking it in her hands.

"What do you want to look around for?"

"Animal nests. Why don't you use your knife to try to spear some fish?"

"Fish?" I turn and look at the pond. "In there?" The surface is covered in dead leaves and flakes of ash.

"Yeah. There's gotta be something in there, right?" She glances at it. "We can hope at least." I shrug and get down on my knees in what I guess would be a decent spearing position. I have no idea what I'm doing, "I'll be back in like an hour," she says.

"Be safe."

It feels like I haven't moved when she returns. "Guess what I found!"

I turn around to look at her. She's holding a bag. "Not a squirrel," I smirk.

"Actually, I did find one, but you - You got a fish!"

"I what?" I look to my left and find a dead fish. "What the-"

"I found a camp for us to cook in," Chloe says, interrupting my confusion, but just ends up making me worried.

"Did you..." I turn to look up at her shining face. "Did you kill anyone?"

"Did you hear a cannon?"

"Well, no. But, Chloe-" I want to tell her I had blacked out and my memory of that hour was gone, but I don't get a chance.

"See? I didn't kill anyone. Now, come on. I'm starved!" I can't help but note her weird behavior, but I grab the fish and follow her to the small camp anyways.

And by camp, I mean a spot between some trees where there is evidence of a fire and a make-shift bed.

"You're better at building fires," Chloe speaks softly. I nod my head and dig through Jesse's bag to get the small packet of matches at the bottom. I start building the fire and look up to find Chloe looking around, searching for more supplies probably. I switch back and forth between watching the fire and her until I see her face light up. She trots over to me and falls to her knees, her body in my personal space and almost too close to the fire. "Look!" she chirps, holding out a silver canister. Before I can ask what it was, she opens it to reveal purple goo. She brings it up to her nose and inhales deeply then coughs. "It's medicine, Beca!" It seems like this camp has everything. "Found it over by that tree under some leaves. They were hiding it."

"They might need that more than us though. We should put it back."

"I think they'll be fine with us taking it. If they really needed it, they would have used it already," Chloe says plainly. She gets up and moves out of my view. A minute later, I hear her slicing away at the animals we had caught.

* * *

We ate in silence, which was nice and calming, and by the end of it, Chloe was back to normal. I don't know what caused her to act odd, but it doesn't matter now. As we walk back to the safe house with our ears open, she grabs my hand and gives it a small squeeze. I meet her eyes and she smiles weakly. She takes a minute to drop my hand, and we finish our walk in silence.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad we have a closet to sleep in," Chloe laughs and stretches. I have to move my attention elsewhere to avoid staring at her exposed midriff.

I laugh, "Yeah me too."

Chloe plops down on the floor sitting cross-legged with the bag she found on her lap. She opens it and starts taking out the items inside. There is a pack of matches, an empty canteen, and a sleeping bag. "This will come in handy," Chloe says, unraveling it. A half eaten loaf of bread comes rolling out of the mess onto the floor. I pick it up and wipe it off. "Is that what I think it is?" She reaches up for it, but I move it out of her reach.

"For breakfast."

She rolls her eyes with a smile and a slight nod before putting the stuff back in the bag and setting it, along with the bread, in the closet. "Could you put some medicine on my cut for me?"

"Yeah." I take my time opening the medicine. When I look up I see her facial features are soft, with her lips drawn up into a small smile and her eyes shining. I slowly start to rub the purple goop across the cut on her forehead. It didn't look that bad, but Chloe's reaction to the soothing medicine tells me it felt worse than it looked. She closes her eyes and her whole body just seems to relax.

A thought tickles the back of my mind and finds its way to my tongue. "Do you think this stuff works on muscles?" Her eyes flutter open and meet mine.

"It isn't warm or anything, so I think it's just for open wounds. I could give you a massage if you want."

I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks before she even finishes her sentence. "Um, no thanks. I'll be fine." I pull my hand away from her forehead and shove it in my jacket pocket.

"Nonsense," she waves her hand dismissively and grabs my arm, pulling me towards the closet door. She opens it and pulls the sleeping bag out, unzipping it and lying it out flat on the floor. "Is it your back?"

"Yeah."

"Lie down on your stomach." I open my mouth to protest, but she just smiles at me in this way I can't explain. It says _I won't hurt you. You can trust me._ And I do. I really do. I barely know this girl in front of me, but I somehow feel that I can trust her- with everything. If she wanted to hurt me, she just would have killed me in my sleep last night, right?

I take off my jacket and lie down and, not a second later, Chloe is on top of me, and I stop breathing. Her legs are on either side of me, and I feel her hands start to knead the base of my back. My body is relaxed, but my my mind is racing. All I can think about is her hands and her legs and the way she makes me feel and the butterflies in my stomach and the way her eyes shine just a little bit brighter when she smiles.

She pokes the back of my neck. "What?"

"I asked what it's like back in 6."

"It's okay. Nothing extravagant. Nothing like I imagine 2 to be."

"2 isn't amazing. Sorry Dad, but yeah, 2 isn't that cool. For me at least."

"Sorry Dad?"

"He's very," she sighs," _involved _in our District. He oversees all the construction involving the military and stuff like that. He saved a group's life one time from a tunnel cave-in and was honored at the mayor's house. That's how I found the book about universities. I became friends with the mayor's son, and I could go visit their library whenever I wanted. It had so many more books than the public library had."

"That's cool. My District doesn't have a public library or anything like that."

"I'm guessing you don't read often then?"

"I read all the time," I reply. "My mom had collected a lot of books. I used to read until I fell asleep."

"Dude!" she giggles. "You are so tense! What's up with that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your muscles are so tight!"

"Yeah, well, that's what happens..." I trail off.

"That's what happens when what?" she asks. I bite my lip and close my eyes. I don't like to talk to people about my life. Actually, I've never really done it before, but I think of her face and her eyes, her sincere eyes, and I am reminded that I can trust Chloe.

"When you grow up alone, forced to support yourself."

"Weren't you lonely?" she questions softly, moving her hands up to massage my shoulders.

"Yeah, but it was just easier than going to the Orphanage."

"Your parents were your only family?"

"Yep. My mom died when I was ten, and I was left alone. I quit going to school at thirteen to pick up more shifts are work. With school out of the way, I could live a little better, breathe a little easier. I never needed to use a tesserae. My mother always told me to never take it. She said eating scraps would be better than losing my life. Work assured me I'd never eat scraps. But, even after all that hard work, look where I am."

Her hands leave my back, and I feel her weight shift. "Hey," she whispers. I turn my head the best I can to look at her. "You'll be okay."

"But if I'll be okay, that means you won't be." She smiles.

"Not necessarily."

"What does that mean?" I ask. She winks and moves back to her old position and continues to massage me. "You're really good at this, you know."

"I know."


	5. Chapter 5

_I'm standing in the corner of a room I've never been in. By its extravagance, I can tell it's somewhere in the Capitol. There's a knock on the door and Luke comes strolling in and approaches the desk. He doesn't see me. "Ah, Luke. It's nice to see you again," a man says. I didn't see him before, but I see him now, sitting in the chair behind the desk. This must be his office. They talk for a bit, but I can't hear them. I try to move, to walk to Luke, but my feet won't budge._

_"She's smart, you know. Too smart." My eyes shoot up to watch the exchange._

_"Beca?"_

_"No, Chloe Beale. She knows more than she should. And she's so young. Filled with so much knowledge, her brain might possibly just explode."_

_"I don't see why that has anything to do with Beca," Luke retaliates. The man in the chair smirks and opens one of his desk drawers._

_"You see, Luke, she's not as innocent as she makes herself out to be," he says calmly as he pulls out an envelope and places it on his desk. Luke picks it up and opens it. His face contorts into confusion as he looks at whatever is in his hand. I can't tell what it is._

_"Why are you showing me this?"_

_"Look closer."_

_Luke's jaw goes a bit slack then quickly clenches. "That doesn't mean Beca has anything to do with that."_

_"No, not necessarily. You're right...but you could also be wrong. Who knows, really?"_

_The man takes the picture out of Luke's hand and tosses it off to side, towards me. It lands at my feet, and I pick it up. It's the photograph of my parents on their wedding day. And there it is, plain as day: a mockingjay embroidered on his suit jacket. It's the same design as the pin Katniss gave me to in a dream. It's the same thing._

_But what does it mean?_

_"Just don't mess with them. Please."_

_"Please? Is the strong and powerful Luke Remming begging a Gamemaker to have mercy on his Tribute?" He laughs mockingly and gets up from his chair, moving to other side of the desk where Luke is. "My, my, my Remmings. I've heard things about you, things from women around the city, but I never knew they were true. You have been working out lately, haven't you? And that tan. If I wasn't married..." A wicked smile flashes across his face. "No, I'm kidding, but really. Look at you. You know, Snow's interest has only peaked in the last few years. He doesn't like to chase after what he wants, but he will if he has to."_

_"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"_

_"We can make a deal out of it. We leave Beca alone. Once she's gone, or crowned victor, you never really know these days, you come with us and let Snow do what he wants with you."_

_Luke sighs and rubs the scruff on his cheek, frustrated. "Snow can find ways to get what he wants whether you take this deal or not," the Gamemaker reminds him._

_"Chloe gets protected too."_

_"Chloe?" the man quirks a brow. "She's not your tribute to protect."_

_"Beca and Chloe or neither. Snow will just have to wait."_

_"Fine. We won't bother Chloe and Beca. But," he smiles, "that doesn't mean other Tributes can't do anything."_

_"I know." Luke shakes the Gamemaker's hand and turns to walk out._

_"I believe a thank you is in order?"_

_"Thanks," he nearly growls and walks out._

_The door slams shut._

* * *

My eyes flash open. At first I think it was caused by the slamming of the door in my dream, but once I realize it was probably a cannon that went off at the same time that woke me up. That's the only rational explanation I can come up with until I realize just what the hell I'm doing. Chloe's arm is _wrapped around me_ and I'm practically _lying on top of her_ and the sleeping bag is unzipped and lying on top of us and I'm honestly surprised the closet fits us both like this but that's not really important right now, Beca, what's important is that you're _cuddling with another Tribute on TV and all of Panem is watching_ _and_ _what the hell are you doing_.

I want to move, but I don't want to wake her up. And, to be completely honest, I don't want to move. My eyes flicker up to her face, which I can only see half of due to our positions. She looks sound asleep, so I lie my head back down on her and close my eyes. I let sleep win this time. Besides, Chloe's kind of comfortable.

* * *

"Do you hear that?" Chloe asks as we nibble on the bread in the closet.

"Hear what?" We're silent and listen. There's soft thud coming from outside the closet. "I hear it now."

"Let's go check it out," she smiles at me then stands and exits with me following close behind. We notice three small pebbles on the ground by the wall opposite the window. Another one flies up and hits the wall. We found the source of the noise. Exchanging glances, we both duck down and make our way to the window.

"I saw you," a voice calls out. "Chloe. C'mon."

"Shit," Chloe hisses.

"What?" I hush.

"It's Aubrey."

"What does she want with you?"

"I have no idea, but I guess we're going to find out." Chloe slowly stands and waves to Aubrey.

"Why'd you run off the other day?"

"Tracker Jacker stings didn't seem like the best thing to have. Why do you care anyways?"

"Chloe that hurts me that you don't think I care about you." I, still out of Aubrey's view, see Chloe's fist clench. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"How'd you find us?"

"Us?"

Chloe struggles to find words, "I mean me. How'd you find me?"

"It was easy really. Just follow the tracks. Your sweet, little brunette has big feet." Chloe doesn't know how to respond. "Where is she anyways?" the blonde continues. "Is she there? Or did she die? I bet she died. She seemed pretty weak."

"I'm right here," I say, popping up ad meeting her gaze.

"Beca, what are you doing?" Chloe hisses under her breath.

"No idea," I whisper back. She grabs my hand and interlocks our fingers.

"Beca Mitchell. Finally we meet."

"What do you want?" Chloe asks. "I know you're not here to check up on me."

The blonde laughs. "You know me well, Beale. I'm here to kill you."

"What?" Chloe and I both choke out, exchanging glances.

"Unless, of course, you want to rejoin the career group and then everything will be okay between us. No hard feelings for you running off and joining..._her_. Besides, don't you want your sword back?" She pulls out a glistening, silver shortsword from behind her back and waves it around slightly. "Why don't you two come down here and we'll talk it over, hmm?" Chloe tells her she has to take a minute to think about it. We both move away from the window to talk.

"No."

"Beca, think about it. All we have to do is join her. We can kill her in her sleep. It'll be simple."

"No. It just doesn't feel right. Did you fail to notice she was _alone?_ Careers are rarely alone. She is planning or has already planned something. I can just feel it."

"We'll be fine, Beca," Chloe tries to coax me into calming down by rubbing my hand with her thumb.

"I just don't know, Chlo'." She ceases movement and grins at me. "What?"

"You called me Chlo'." I can't help but smile at how happy she is.

"So?" I softly chuckle.

"So nothing. It's just cute. Now, come on." She leads me out of the room, down the crumbling staircase, and over to where Aubrey is waiting for us.

"Okay," Chloe says timidly. She's scared, and so am I.

Huffing with a small smile, Aubrey puts her hands on her hips. "What's this?"

"We came down like you asked," I reply.

"I asked for Chloe, not you."

"Well, it's either we go together or not at all." Chloe's grip on my hand tightens.

"Fair enough," Aubrey shrugs. She looks over to our right and nods. Curious, I try to turn my head to see who she was nodding at, but I feel a sudden sharp pain in my gut and Chloe screams, releasing my hand to cover her mouth.

"Wh-" I start to ask, but I look down to see the head of an arrow sticking out of my stomach.

"Don't move!" Chloe warns. I stand there frozen with tears welling up in my eyes. I think I see Aubrey smiling, but I can't tell due to the blurriness of my vision. Looking back at Chloe, I can see the fear in her eyes, absolute, sheer terror paired with tears. I see a dark figure, a blob to me, grab her from behind and she screams, but it ceases with a loud crack. Her body falls to the ground.

"Chloe!" I scream over and over again, but her body doesn't move.

"She's dead, 6," the dark figure says. He moves in closer, and I can make out his face. It's Bumper.

"Why did you do that?" I break down into a sobbing fit, but I try not to let them rack my body too much. It hurts to move.

"This is a competition right?" he smirks then punches me in the face, knocking me to the ground. I yelp in pain, but that doesn't stop him from kicking me in the side repeatedly. Everything starts to turn black and I hear a faint sound in the distance calling out to me.

"Beca! Wake up!"

"Wh-what? What happened?" I look around and we're in the closet and her eyes are staring pleadingly into mine.

"You were screaming in your sleep, but your jaw was clenched shut, and you were flailing a bit."

"Nightmare," I say again with a scratchy voice. "But I'm okay now."

She pushes a few matted hairs away from my forehead and smiles at me. I get lost in her baby blue eyes for a minute until I remember how we're set up in here. I'm still half on top of her. "Um, I— what are—" I stumble over my words, and she giggles at me. "I'm sorry," I end up mumbling instead.

She laughs softly again, "For what?"

"For sleeping on you like this. I don't even remember going to bed." Her smile falters into a look of disappointment.

"You don't remember last night?" I can hear the hurt in her voice.

"No." Might as well tell her now. "Sometimes I have blackouts where I was conscious and did things, but I don't remember them. For instance, the interviews. I don't remember being on stage at all. The first day of the Games, I remember hiding in a tree for a while, and when Jesse found me, he said it had been four hours."

"Does this happen often?"

"It's been getting worse, yeah."

"When did it start?"

"I didn't have this problem, that I know of, before I went to the Capitol."

"Interesting..."

I nod.

"Can you remember what happened after you learn that you had blacked out?"

"Yeah, but it usually has to be triggered by something. For instance, I had to watch my interview on TV to remember what happened and that was a while ago so—" Chloe puts her finger on my lips to cease my rambling. "I don't know if it—"

"Shush."

"But, Chlo', I—" Wait, did I just call her Chlo'? I've never called her that before. She grins and moves her hand to my face, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. "What..."

"You said you need a trigger, right?" She doesn't wait for me to respond and slowly, softly closes the gap between us. It's gentle and welcoming, the opposite of Jesse and my's kiss, if I would even call it that. My eyes flutter closed as my hand involuntarily moves to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss. It feels familiar, like it's happened before. Then it all comes rushing back to me. The sweet smell of peaches mixed with sweat and desire, the taste of her mouth, the all-too familiar sensation of goosebumps rising and falling on my skin, the faint sound of skin against skin, and the heat radiating in my gut, pure desire, something I've apparently felt before, but only with her. Only with Chloe.

We break away. She smiles at me and I smile back because I remember now. "Did we..." I begin to ask, but trail off due to my own embarrassment.

She laughs, "No! We're on TV, Beca!"

I blush. "Oh."

"But you suggested it."

"I did not!"

"How do you know!?" she retorts playfully.

"Because we're on TV and I'm not dumb!"

"Are you sure about that?"

"Stop!" I laugh, pushing her away, but since we're smashed in the closet, she doesn't move and ends up pushing me back. This goes on for a few minutes until both us just end up laughing. "Come on," I smile. "Let's go eat."

* * *

"You said the blackouts started around the time you came to the Capitol. What about the nightmares?"

"Yeah, they started around that time too. I think my mind is just in shock or something." I take a small bite of my half of the bread loaf.

"What are they about exactly? Just scary shit?"

I laugh before explaining. "They're more like memories of things that have happened, or sometimes they're like normal dreams that have nothing to do with the past. Like last night I had a dream about my mentor and some weird..." I trail off and reach for the pocket in my jeans with the photograph of my mother and father. Pulling it out, I take a look at it, and sure enough, the mockingjay symbol on my father's jacket is real. I quickly put it away.

"Some weird what?"

"Nothing. It was nothing," I smile at her weakly. She knows it was definitely something, but she simply gives me a concerned nod and continues eating. We eat in silence, just happy to be together. When I finish, I lean into Chloe and she wraps her arms around me, holding me and keeping me warm. I could really get used to this.

We ended up falling asleep, waking up to a light thud. I blink hard a few times to get the tired out of my eyes so they can focus. "What's that noise?" Chloe asks, rubbing her eyes. I freeze and listen hard with my eyes glued to the window.

A pebble flies in and hits the wall.

"This can't be happening..."

"Someone's trying to get our attention." We both stand up. "What should we do?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"I know you're up there!" we hear a voice call out. It's Aubrey Posen.

Chloe looks to me with pleading eyes. "Beca, what do we do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Can we wait her out? Do you think she'll go away?"

"We'll have to wait and see," I shrug. I'm glad in reality she isn't as eager to say hello to her old teammate.

Aubrey never went away.

"Should we just talk to her? Maybe she wants to say hi or something."

"We've got to do something, I guess. She's been out there for what, like half an hour? I just have a bad feeling about this." It's the truth. My palms are sweaty, I'm nauseous and can't help but feel that the Aubrey from my dream has similar intentions as the one outside.

"Come on, then," Chloe stands up, pulling me up with her, and waltzes over to the window. The two talk a little bit, ignoring me completely, and the same thing pretty much happens; Aubrey asks us to come down and talk with her. But, there's a twist for the reasoning this time. Unicycle, the boy from 2, also known as Sam Evans, was killed earlier this morning. That's probably what woke me up. Chloe's a little devastated, but she tries not to let it show. I can tell, though. The pain reaches her eyes.

With her hand secure in mine, Chloe and I walk down to meet the blonde in the grass. "Do you want to know who killed him?" she asks.

Chloe nods before speaking, "Yeah."

"It was Lilly. She turned on us and killed him. Bumper tied her up back at camp. I figured you'd want to be the one to kill her since, you know, you and Sam were so close." Aubrey's tone is sharp, and it hurts Chloe. I rub my thumb back and forth over her hand, hoping it works to keep her calm.

"Um," she murmurs, turning to look at me with tears in her eyes. "I don't...I don't want revenge," she turns back to face Aubrey.

"Shouldn't Lilly be punished for what she did? For committing murder." The blonde takes a small step towards us. "He trusted her with his life and she broke that trust and took his life. She tried to run away, but we caught her. Don't you think everyone who tries to run away after betraying us should be punished?"

"I—"

"I don't think that logic applies to Chloe now," I say, saving Chloe from stumbling over her words.

"I don't think you apply to this situation," Aubrey replies with ice lacing her voice. "Besides, Chloe is one of us so I don't even know why you're here."

"One of "us"? You and what army?"

"This army, bitch!" I'm knocked down by a large boy, Bumper would be my guess. He pins me down and punches me a few times, drawing blood by the second punch. I can feel the warmth trickling down the side of my face.

"Beca!" Chloe screams, but only once. I struggle to look past the blurriness of my vision and the swinging fist to find Chloe lying on the ground and being lifted into Aubrey's arms. A solid hit to my temple knocks me out, the image of Chloe's unconscious face is the last thing I see.

"Is she dead?" My eyes open to a near-squint. Anything more hurts.

"I think so." The world is spinning and everything is hazy.

"Did you hear a fucking cannon, because I didn't!" I recognize the voices: Aubrey and Bumper. My eyes close once again, and when they open, I'm being dragged across the blurry, green grass.

"Stupid bitch," I barely hear Bumper mumble. My weak eyes fall closed once again.

My hand immediately cups my face. "Fuck," I hiss, feeling the bump on my cheek bone. "Oh, fuck, my head!" Moving my hands to massage my forehead, something which oddly always helped my headaches, I manage to open my eyes. I'm in my room, the safe room, the ex-safe room now, slouched against the wall. Did Bumper put me here or was that just my imagination?

Looking around the room, it feels so much emptier than usual, and I can't place why.

Chloe's gone. I completely forgot.

Slowly standing up, I make my way to the window. It's not much brighter or darker outside than it was about the time Chloe was kidnapped. Good.

Practically tearing Jesse's bag open, I dig around for the only knife I have left and shove it in the back of my pants. I have to do this. This is the only way I can be sure she's safe. I have to do this. But, I'll be pitted against a bunch of careers who are better than me at everything. I don't know if I can do this. Chloe needs me. I have to do this.

I can't lose her.

I can't just walk away and pretend she never ran into me that day. I can't just act like I never felt anything for her or cared about her. I can't just let her die.

_"You're strong, Beca." I shake my head. "You are."_

_"But Mommy, being strong for Daddy won't bring him back."_

_"No, Hon, but do you believe he would want you to be sad? He would want you to be happy and laugh again. He loved hearing you laugh." She squats down so she could be at eye level with me. "Do you remember the name of the metal Mommy loves to use at work?"_

_I don't see why she's talking about this right now, but I answer her. "Titanium."_

_"That's right." She smiles at me, wiping the tears from my cheeks. "And do you know why I love working with titanium?" I shake my head. "It's because it's strong. It's malleable and durable. It can be pounded down to a flat sheet and still be stronger than half the other metals in the world. No matter how many times you hit it and distort it, Titanium is always strong." She tilts my chin upwards so my eyes are looking into hers again. "Honey, look at me. You have to be strong, okay? You have to be titanium, okay? Together, we can through this, but you need to be strong." I sniffle in response. "Okay?"_

_"Okay."_

She called me Titanium from that day forward whenever she was upset. At first I thought she only called me that when she was missing my father, but as I grew up, I realized the strength she got from me was utilized for any different things. She wasn't always sad about my father. She had a stressful job with long hours spent far away from me with little pay. There must have been lots of things causing my mother pain throughout the years, but I was too young to see them, and I have forgotten most of those years.

Titanium is malleable and can be shaped tons of different ways to accommodate different situations. This is one of those situations. I have to be strong and save Chloe. I have to at least try.

* * *

By the end of the day, I manage to find the career camp located in a small building on the outskirts of the arena. Perched in a tree, I watch the guard outside until they leave their post to go around the side of the building. I take this chance to leave the tree and run in, knife in hand, on high alert. There are a few rooms inside the building and after searching the first two, I hear a soft snore and follow it. I'm led to a small room with sleeping bags lying across the floor. One is occupied by none other than Aubrey Posen.

I could slit her throat right now and be done with all of this. It'd be so simple. I could just stand over her unconscious body and, with one quick motion, take her life. I'd sit on her chest so she couldn't get up, and I'd cover her mouth so she couldn't scream. Super simple.

I can't do it.

I go as far as standing over with a knife clenched in my hand, turning my knuckles white, but I can't just kill her. I need answers. Chloe deserves answers.

Opting for interrogation, I straddle the sleeping blonde and put my knife to her throat. "Wake up." She stirs a bit under the cold of the knife paired with my words, but doesn't wake up. I repeat my command, but get no response. Sighing, I lightly smack her face. "Get up."

"Hmmm?" she hums. Her eyes open. "What the fuck?!"

"Don't speak a word unless I prompt you with a question. Nod if you understand." She nods. The words feel so wrong leaving my lips, but I need to be strong. I can't let my true feelings show.

"Why did you kidnap Chloe?"

"We need her."

"You don't need her. You seem perfectly fine without her. In fact, you wouldn't be in this situation right now if you just left her alone. Why did you really take her?"

Tears well up in the green eyes pinned below me. "I need her."

"Why?"

"Just because...because she's someone whom I can trust. You understand, right?" With her life hanging in the balance, Aubrey looks so...innocent. She reminds me of Jesse even though she's nothing like him. They have different hair color, eye color, height, skills, anatomy, Districts, etc., but they're so similar; it scares me. Aubrey's bottom lip is quivering and the tears are running down her face and splashing against the concrete floor. She looks so vulnerable, so child-like. It makes me second guess my actions.

"Yeah."

"I know it doesn't make sense, but I just need her," she says without permission, but I let it slide because this is just wrong. I can't kill. I'm not a murderer. Why am I doing this? Why are we here? Why is President Snow doing this to us? We're just children. We don't deserve this.

"Please," she sobs. "Don't." I look down at my hand and find it's trembling. It's hard to swallow and I'm sweating even though it's cold enough out to see my own breath. I can't do this.

"If I let you live, you let Chloe and I go, and you and the careers don't bother us ever again. Just let us be and you'll live. We'll stay out of your way. Do we have a deal?" My voice comes out more confident than I feel. I know this treaty can only go on for so long, but any time is better than none.

"Deal." I get off of her, and she smiles out of relief. Standing, she holds her hand out to me. We shake hands, sealing our deal.

"Where's Chloe?"

"Next door over." I head for the door. "Beca," she says in a quiet yet sincere voice. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

"The odds are never in our favor, Posen. We're Tributes." She nods with a quiver of her bottom lip. I leave her and quickly enter Chloe's holding quarters.

"Beca?" she cries, looking up from the floor at me with the biggest smile I've ever seen.

"Come on, let's get out of here." I sever the strips of t-shirt used to create cuffs to set her free. She wraps her arms around me, and I smell peaches again. I just want to stay like this forever, but we have to move now before Aubrey changes her mind.

"What about Aubrey?"

"She won't be bothering us anymore."

"She lied to me. Unicycle is alive. I saw him," she chokes out.

"We need to go_ now_, Chlo'." She pulls back and nods at me, sniffling. I place a swift kiss on the end of her nose and she giggles. I missed that sound.


	6. Chapter 6

It's been days since our confrontation with Aubrey Posen, but it's hard to tell just how long it's been. The days have seemed to be growing shorter each day. I'm guessing the Gamemakers are getting bored with our seemingly slow paced Games. Only one person dies a day, if that even. There must be only a few of us left.

Chloe and I have been keeping track of the careers by watching the nightly death report. Sam Evans (Unicycle) died a day after Chloe and I returned to our safe room. It was hard for her to see his face up there, but I held her all through the night until sleep finally overcame her tired body.

I'm just glad Aubrey never changed her mind about our deal. We've seen evidence of the small group moving about the arena when we go out to hunt, but thankfully we've never ran into them. I don't know if we'd be strong enough to fight off more than one Tribute, much less careers. Food has been hard to come by, especially since the Gamemakers are bored with us and have been messing with the weather to try to flush us out of our hiding places. It's been storming and pouring rain for hours at a time, then they try to dry it all up by heating the arena up to ghastly temperatures. It's taking a major toll on the wildlife and us Tributes. The only water source is the small pond in the woods and that's half ash and dirt now.

Chloe gets parachutes periodically, but they're mostly just enough food for her. I refuse to eat her food, but she only eats half of it and goes to bed without finishing her meal. I know she's leaving it for me, and sometimes I take it, but most mornings the food is still lying in its container waiting for Chloe. Sometimes I feel like I can't take care of her like I should be doing. And sometimes I hear a cannon in the distance and realize as long as she's alive and breathing and in my arms, I'm taking care of her and protecting her like she deserves.

She takes care of me too. Like I said before, she feeds me and shares water with me, but it's much more than that. She's my everything and I can't imagine losing her again.

That's what scares me the most.

If I lost Chloe, I'd lose my teammate, my best friend, my protector, my girlfriend, my love, my everything.

There are only a few more days before the Gamemakers get too annoyed with us Tributes and try to kill us all off. If it came down to me and another Tribute who wasn't Chloe, I'd rather take my life than live without her. If it came down to Chloe and I, we'd run and run and run and find somewhere to hide out and spend our last hours together before the Capitol slaughtered us. I'd sacrifice myself for her. She has more to live for than me. She deserves to live more than I do. Her life is more important than mine. It always has been.

She's honestly the only thing keeping me alive. If she wouldn't have ran into me when she did, I would be dead by now. Possibly by choice.

"Beca?" I feel a finger poke my forehead. My eyes flash open and meet hers. "Hi," she smiles.

"Hi." I stretch up and catch her lips with mine. To deepen the kiss, my hand reaches up around the back of her neck.

She pulls away and rests her forehead against mine. "Well good morning to you too," she giggles. "Any nightmares?"

"Nope. Not with you around, my little Dreamcatcher." It's such a cheesy nickname for her, but it's so true. Since we came back from the career camp, I've been nightmare and dream free. I've actually had a full night's sleep and have woken up feeling refreshed.

"You're too cute, Beca Mitchell."

"Only for you, babe," I smile, connecting our lips one more time before we officially get up. I reluctantly pull back in order to get out of the closet, but she grabs my arm, pulling me down to her. I sigh happily and rest my chin near her shoulder. "Need something?"

"No, I just..." she trails off, looking past me. I furrow my brow, brushing my hand along her cheek and down her jaw.

"You just what?" Her eyes flash to mine and then back towards the empty darkness. "What is it? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you sick?!" My hand flies to her forehead to check for a fever, but she feels normal. Her hand softly grabs mine and brings it to her chest, rhythmically rubbing it with her thumb.

"It's nothing," she tries to convince me.

"It's never nothing."

"I don't want to push you away."

"You won't push me away, Chloe. If you want to say something, say it before you can't get the chance to." It's a harsh reality, but we agreed not to keep secrets from each other. You never really know when you'll say your last words. Neither of us want to leave anything worth thinking unsaid.

"I, uh," a wide grin spreads across her face. "I hope this isn't too early to say this, but I—I think I'm in love with you."

"Really?" She nods. "Well, good, because I think I'm in love with you too." I kiss her lips and pull back reluctantly. "I really hate to cut this moment short, but I'm starving," I laugh.

"Me too," she smiles. "Let's go eat."

We exit the closet and spread the sleeping bag out on the floor before sitting down. "This is all we have left," Chloe says, showing the small chunk of bread she saved from a parachute the day prior. Twirling it around with her fingers, she murmurs, "I love that people care enough to send me things, but I wished there was enough for us both. I wish people cared about what I care about." She looks over at me with a small smile. "Here," she opens my palm and places the small hunk of bread in it.

"Chloe," I try to hand the piece back, but she sits on her hands and won't move them. "Come on, Chlo'!"

We both burst out laughing in the struggle. "I want you to have it!" she yells, adrenaline pumping from the laughing fit.

"We'll share it then." Breaking the already small chunk into two pieces makes it seem like nothing at all, but I don't complain and neither does Chloe. We pop the bread in our mouths and slowly let it disintegrate before swallowing the mushy lump.

"I love you," she beams.

"I love you too." Her body relaxes against mine and she grabs my hand, putting it up to her lips to place a soft kiss across my knuckles.

"Say it again." I feel her smile against my hand.

"I love you, Chloe Beale," I say, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

"And I love you, Beca Mitchell." She kisses my hand once more before lying it across her chest, right over her heart. We lie together for a solid hour with her lying in my arms, just enjoying each other's warmth until we see a small parachute fly in through the window. It clanks against the hard floor as it lands.

Chloe straightens up, resting on her elbow, with a huge smile on her face. "Maybe they heard me."

"Maybe," I echo, slowly getting up to retrieve the parachute, but Chloe beats me to it. I slump against the wall behind me and she joins. "What's that?" She unties a string which was bound around the container and looks at a small slip of paper. "I thought sponsors couldn't send notes."

"They can't." She reads the note. "You're welcome, Sweetheart?" she says confused as she hands me the note. That's exactly what the note says: "You're welcome, Sweetheart." What could that mean? The only person who called me Sweetheart in my entire life was Luke, but it was so out of character for him to call me that. If he did send me the note, this is the stupidest thing he could put on it. "I'm guessing this for you, so..." Chloe exchanges the parachute for the note.

I toy with the small latch on the container, wondering what's inside, hoping it's food or water. Either way, we're in desperate need of both. As soon as I undo the latch, I hear a small beeping radiating from the container. Chloe's head snaps towards it as she rips it from my hands. Holding it up to her ear, the beep is louder this time and her eyes grow wide. "Beca..." her voice comes out shaky and strained.

"What?"

"This is—" another beep interrupts her words. "A bomb." I'm speechless and the bomb's beeps are getting louder and the time between each are getting shorter quickly. Chloe stands and goes to throw the container out the window, but it explodes before it leaves her fingertips.

I wake up to the sound of beeps and a monitor going off. How is this possible? How am I still alive? I have to squint to look around the room; the walls are too white. As my eyes adjust to the intensity of the color, I realize that I have no idea where I am. I'm in a hospital gown of some sort, which is white, and there are wires hooked up to me all over my body. A needle with a tube attached is stuck in my left arm and is attached to a bag of fluids.

I should be dead.

The beeping gets louder as I take in my surroundings. The room gives me a bad, almost off, feeling. It doesn't feel right. It's hard to explain, but I just don't feel like I belong here. I struggle to turn my head to take in the sight of a machine in which the wires attached to my body are connected to. The screen is flashing. That must be what's beeping. The sliding of doors draws my attention back to the front of the room, or what I believe to be the front of the room. There are two people standing there now, keeping their distance. They're dressed in white. The uniform contracts greatly with the man on the left's hair. I can't really see the woman to my right very well. She's hanging back in the shadows on the side of the room. I open my mouth to talk, but nothing comes out. My mouth has never felt this dry before. The woman eyes the man and he nods at her then comes over to me and puts a water bottle up to my lips. He pours in just enough to get my throat wet.

"What's going on?" I ask. My voice is scratchy and weak, which surprises me. It shouldn't sound like that. The man stays at my side and starts unwrapping items on a tray I never noticed was there. "Where am—" I cough, unable to continue speaking. This earns me another sip of water. "Where am I?" I notice the blonde woman move with my peripheral vision, but I'm more concerned with the pale man with the utensils. Are they going to hurt me?

"What are you doing?" The man doesn't answer me; he keeps on unwrapping more items. The woman in the back is just staring at him, at me, at my monitors and at the floor. She's of no help to me. "Beca Mitchell," the man breathes, sticking a syringe in a small glass bottle and filling it up with fluid. My eyes flash to the end at he squeezes out a bit of fluid.

"Welcome to District 13."

Before I can respond, I feel a sharp sting in my arm and everything fades to black.


	7. Epilogue

"Sweetheart, it's okay." I rub my eyes, noticing the wires and tubes are all absent. The room I'm in now is darker; the walls are a light shade of gray. My location has changed, but I'm still lying in a hospital bed.

"Who are you?" I address the man sitting across from me. He looks slightly familiar with his shoulder length blonde locks and striking gray eyes. A smirk plays on his lips.

"I know you have a lot of questions. I'll sit here and answer them all. My name is Haymitch Abernathy." Of course. The only living victor of District 12.

"I know who you are," I say, my voice still sounding strained. He rubs his hands together with a small laugh. "I watched your games on the train."

"That you did," he nods. "That you did."

I want to ask him how he knows that, but I'll come back to that later. "The nurse dude said we were in District 13? I thought it was destroyed."

"It was on the surface. We're underground right now."

"Oh." Coughing again, I ask for a drink of water. He hands me a water bottle, and I chug half of it. "How did I get here?"

"You were rescued."

"Rescued?" I question.

"Yep. You were—What all do you remember?" He reads my confusion and clarifies. "What's the last thing you remember? The last thing you are one hundred percent sure was real."

"I, uh, I was in the Games and, uh, I was lying with Ch—another Tribute, and we were eating. But then a bomb went off, and I don't think that was real because if it was real, I'd be dead."

"It wasn't real."

"What?"

"Do you want to know what really happened?" I nod. "Do you believe you were in the Games?" I repeat the action. "I'm sorry, Beca," he pauses, rubbing his chin. "But you were never in the Games." He looks up at me apologetically.

"What? How is that possible? It seemed _very_ real."

"What our scientists have predicted was that your brain thought you were going into the Games, so it was fabricating how it believed the Games would have been like. But, it's hard to tell. You just woke up."

"None of it was real?" My voice is almost too quiet for myself to hear.

"No."

"Well..." it's hard to form a proper question without passing out. None of it was real? It had to be real. It felt real. "What do you mean by my brain fabricated it?"

He rubs his scruffy chin with his hand before dropping it into his lap. "Sweetheart," he looks into my eyes, but his face is blurry now. "You were taken by the Capitol after the Tribute Parade. Do you remember passing out that night?"

My bottom lip is quivering uncontrollably. "Yes."

"The avox who picked you up didn't take you to your sleeping quarters like he was ordered to. He took you somewhere else." I try to swallow, but I can't seem to get the lump in my throat to disappear. "When we rescued you, we found you hooked up to a machine that we believe had the purpose of deleting your memories. Wiping your brain clean. When you were removed, you didn't wake up. We transported you here to District 13 to be monitored and cared for until you woke up. Our doctors and specialists have tested your blood, checked your chemical levels, and kept you under heavy surveillance for a while."

"How long is a while?" I ask quietly. He rubs his chin again, not answering. "How long?" I blink through the tears and stare into his eyes which meet mine.

"Years."

"How many, Haymitch?" I sob. It comes out as more of a scream than I had intended.

"Seven. You've been in a coma for seven years."

"Seven years" I nod my head, trying to process what I've just been told. I thought I was seventeen. Turns out I'm twenty-four now. That's not such a big deal, right? I'm just seven years older. No biggie. I just missed seven birthdays. I've slept for seven years because of something the Capitol did. They stole seven years of my life.

"Do you need a bucket? You're looking a little pale there."

Still nodding my head, I murmur, "Yeah." I take the trashcan from his hands and throw up into it. It's mostly dry heaving, and Haymitch rubs my back until the heaves cease. "Seven years?"

"Seven years. I know it's a lot to take in."

"Well, yeah! No fucking shit." He laughs, moving back to his seat.

"I like you. You've got spunk."

"I'm not sure you'd call that spunk," I chuckle. Settling back into the bed, a thought pops into my head. "You said 'we' earlier. Who's this 'we'?"

"The Rebels. District 13 is the base of the rebellion." I raise my brow. "We are against President Snow and the Capitol and aim to destroy it, like we should have 75 years ago. We're led by President Coin. She aims to take office and restore Panem to its former glory."

"So am I now part of the rebellion?"

"If you so choose to be. I hope you do."

"I just woke up; I'll have to wait a bit until I can decide."

"Fair enough."

"Um," I start awkwardly, "do you by any chance who know Katniss is? I don't know her last name." He almost smiles at the mention of her name.

"Why, yes I do. She's our Mockingjay, our public leader. She inspires the citizens of Panem to rise up and join us." He hesitates before asking me how I knew her name.

"When I was asleep, I guess, I had a dream and she was in it. She handed me a mockingjay pin and disappeared. That was it."

"I guess it worked then," Haymitch says more to himself than me.

"What?"

"I talked to you when you were in a coma. The doctors said it's good for the patient to hear someone's voice, and I thought maybe, possibly, some would get through to you. Whenever something new happened with the rebellion, I told you about it, described it to you. Is there anything else that seemed odd to you in your dreams or in the Games?"

"There was a photograph of my parents I had taken into the arena with me that had a mockingjay on it. It was embroidered on my father's jacket. And..." I question whether or not to mention Chloe's name, and decide it's best to leave her out of this. "And a Tribute I was with told me about the arena we were in. Said it was in a book she read once. It was a University. I don't know if that's the kind of odd you're talking about or not. Oh, and then, in one of my other dreams, a Gamemaker was talking with my mentor about how the girl I was with knew too much and was a threat and some other stuff."

He nods, letting my words soak in. "Was there anything special about the arena? Describe it to me." I mention how half of the area was blown to bits and ashes were always thick in the air. "That correlates to the bombings the Capitol has done recently to the Districts. That might be where you got that from."

I shrug. This conversation is at the back of my mind, barely holding my attention. All I can think about is Chloe and what happened to her. I know she was real; I saw her at the Parade. I just hope she didn't suffer when she died.

"You said before that you knew I had watched your Games on the train to the Capitol. How?"

"Gail told me. She said you were pretty impressed by how I won. I would be too." His smirk stretches across his features, and I roll my eyes.

"What happened to Gail?"

"She's at the Capitol still."

"And Patricia? I mean, Fat Amy."

"At the Capitol."

I swallow hard, thinking about the dream with Luke making a deal with the Gamemaker. "What about Luke Remming?"

"He, uh," Haymitch wrings his hands uncomfortably. "He's at the Capitol; he's one of our pairs eyes and ears on the inside."

"Have you ever tried to rescue him?"

"We can't. Snow has a tight grip on him. Besides, he ordered us to not worry about him. He's safe enough." I can't help but feel like the deal Luke made was actually real.

I scratch the injection site of the needle from earlier as I ask what was the excuse the Capitol used to have a Tribute disappear without alarm. "They claimed you were 'unfit to participate' and your spot was filled immediately. The mayor of your district had to reap another child and send them ASAP. Her name was Cynthia Rose Holden. She made it to the top 9, which is pretty impressive considering she received one less day of training than the others."

"Speaking of the others, what happened to the boy from my district? His name was Jesse Swanson."

"I remember him. His death was a sad one." So, yes, he did die. "He was running away from the career group and tripped. Fell down a flight of cement stairs and was dead before his body rolled down them all. Snapped his neck."

"That's horrible," I wince, remembering the way the life left his body in my hands.

"I'm guessing he died in your Games."

"Yeah," I nod. "I—I pushed him. It was an accident, but he...he died a similar way."

"Sorry to hear that. You can't let the guilt from that crossover to reality, Beca. It wasn't real. You didn't kill him."

"It feels like I did," I whisper. Wiping a stray tear from my cheek, I continue. "It'll just take time to sort all this out." We sit in silence for a few minutes, letting me collect myself again.

"Who won?"

Haymitch lifts his hand and beckons someone from behind a mirrored wall I never noticed was there before. Someone was watching us this entire time. The nurse from earlier walks through the doors, the female, not the male, and as she makes her way over to us in the dim lighting, I notice her eyes.

It's Chloe.

_Chloe Beale won._

Before she even makes it halfway to me, I can feel my heart racing and my palms growing warm and my smile ripping my face into two, and I anticipate her touch and her kiss and her sweet caress and her voice. Oh god, her _voice_! I thought I'd never hear it again. I thought I was alone. I thought she was dead.

"Hi Beca," she smiles, now at my side, grabbing my hand carefully.

The words bounce around in my brain so I can hear her voice over and over again. Her hair is shoulder-length and blonde, but it's still Chloe Beale. She's just a little older, but it doesn't show. Her smile is the same, her voice is the same, her bright, brilliant eyes are as vibrant as ever, and her skin is soft and warm, just like I remember it.

"She's not listening to me, is she?" I hear Haymitch mutter to Chloe.

"What?" I ask, not really caring about what he said or is going to repeat.

"I said that Chloe here is one of the most skilled nurses we have in District 13, and you're very lucky to be under her care. It was hard getting her here—"

Chloe adds with a slight laugh, "Sure was."

"—but it was definitely worth the trouble."

My eyes never leave Chloe. "Why was it difficult?"

Chloe answers this time. "I had to fake my own death. No big deal," she shrugs.

Haymitch picks up where she left off. "After her Victory Tour, we blew up a hovercraft she was supposedly on and we brought her here."

"I changed my hair, Coin assigned me an occupation, and I was set."

"Her hair was her biggest indicator," Haymitch clarified. I beg to differ; her eyes are her best quality.

Her hand feels loose in mine, like she really isn't holding onto me. I can feel the words on the tip of my tongue. I want to tell her that I promise to never lose her again. I even open my mouth to speak, but the words don't come out. Instead, reality sets in. Horrible, terrifying reality.

I never lost her.

She doesn't know me.

She was never mine to lose.

My mouth snaps shut, and I clench my teeth, squinting to try to stop the tears from pouring down my face. I can't let her see me, a complete stranger, this weak. She is my everything, and I love her. She doesn't know more than my name.

I'm a stranger to the woman I love.

"Chloe?" Haymitch says. Chloe lets go of my hand, and I hear footsteps leading away from me. "She, um. She believes she was in the Games, and I'm not really sure exactly what happened in them. With some therapy, we'll figure out what happened and we can help her cope with reality. Just—just keep your distance until we know exactly how dangerous she is, if she is at all. I don't know how unstable she is. Let's not get too close. I don't want what happened with you-know-who to happen again. I don't need anyone else being choked," the man says in a hushed whisper, but the room is so silent. I hear every word loud and clear.

Chloe is to stay away from me, and I'm to just accept that fact.

I get no say in the matter.

I'm just a patient to her.

To me, she's my everything.

* * *

**A/N: There will be a sequel! I will add another "chapter" to this fic when the sequel is posted to alert anyone following this fic!**


	8. Thirteen announcement

THE SEQUEL IS NOW UP!

You can read it on here: /s/9311925/1/Thirteen

or you can check it out on my blog on TUMBLR: bumpica /tagged/13

THANK YOU!


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